Lost Chances
by cheekymice
Summary: A dark slice of Ryan, set after 'The Dearly Beloved'.Second chapter added. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Beta'ed by Melanie39**

**Disclaimer- I own nothing to do with The OC.**

**Lost Chances**

Ryan drove the SUV around the faded streets of L.A. He had officially fucked up. He knew that. He'd been fooling himself that he could be a different person. He was an Atwood through and through, rotten to the core. He managed to taint everything he came into contact with and he'd infected the people around him he loved most. The Cohens had been a contented unit until he had shown up, now one was in rehab, one was walking around in a daze and one was scared of him.

He saw the look on his friends' faces that night, the look of abject horror as they'd witnessed the violence. He hated that even in death Trey had got what he'd wanted. Trey had destroyed everything, and taken the one thing that Ryan needed…Marissa. The stunned shock on her face as she looked at Trey lying broken on the floor had told him there and then that she would never be able to go near him again, that the mere sight of him would remind her that she had killed a man. He'd snapped. Kicking his brother's dead body again and again had not eased the ache he felt in his gut. The arms he'd felt pulling him away, the shouts and the sobs, as he tried to inflict pain on a person who couldn't feel were all distant to him.

All he felt was the powerful red haze of anger and hate. It was cathartic to hear the sound his boot made as it rained its blows down, all the past years frustrations and disappointments centring on Trey's body. It had taken the three of them to pull him away and only after he'd given Trey's torso one last jolt, did he realize that he'd finally lost everything. He stared up at them, his breath uneven and he'd seen the look in each of their eyes…they were scared of him. They'd finally seen the monster hiding under the façade he'd created. Things would never be the same again.

He swung the wheel and turned down the side road. The sidewalks were littered with garbage and the shops here had the worn, neglected look of the wrong side of the tracks. He saw what he'd come for. He cruised slowly down the street. He ignored several catcalls and curses as he drove by; he homed in on one woman. She stood apart from the others and she wasn't making a song and dance. She wasn't dressed in a clichéd way, her dark hair hung in a simple bob around her shoulders. She stood with confidence and had the body of a woman, soft and rounded. She wasn't tall and angular, nothing there to remind him of her. He locked eyes and pulled the SUV to a halt.

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_Elise_

Elise was tired; it had been a long night, the constant bickering of the other girls grated now. She wanted nothing more than to go home to her apartment and write, even though her hopes and dreams had been quashed a long time ago. When she'd arrived in Los Angeles all those many years ago fresh from London with an English degree from Magdalene College, Oxford she'd thought she held the world in her palm. She had the unwavering confidence that she'd be a published author in record time, that she'd be somebody. Shooting for the dream had been a lost cause, in a place where everyone was the next John Steinbeck or Jack Kerouac. She had simply sunk below the surface. She still wrote but the rejection letters hurt less now as the years had gone by.

She worked for herself, no pimp… she was an independent. Once you got past a certain age they left you alone anyway. She had been bullied and pressured in the early days but she'd managed to gain respect from the local hoods with her feisty English will and her steadfast refusal to kowtow to anyone. That's the way it had been for her and everyone now left her alone.

She didn't interfere in anyone's business and she asked that no one infringe on hers. She was fiercely private, no one knew her real name and she wanted it to be kept that way. The name Elise was a joke, a memory back to happier days when she'd been young and idealistic. She'd been seeing a young investment banker. She had thought it was just a casual thing but he'd gotten too serious too quickly. He had proposed to her and as an engagement present he'd brought her a Lotus Elise sports car, metallic blue and sleek with leather bucket seats and a fast engine. She had felt suffocated by the image of living in suburbia with two point four children. She'd wanted her dream. She'd handed back the keys of the car a week later and headed out to the land of plenty.

And here she was twenty years later, competing for Johns against the typical American identikit blondes, with their silicone tits and their never ending legs.

She noticed the SUV cruising down the street; the other girls started their displays. The car spoke money and they wanted some of the action. This part of town tended to cater to the upper end of the blue-collar sector. Cars like this were a rarity. She had long ago stopped the ridiculous posturing and head tossing that the girls were throwing the cars way. It was like they were all working off the same script of a fucking low budget hooker flick. She just stood her ground.

The SUV pulled to a halt next to her. She looked around just to make sure she wasn't stepping on anyone's toes. The pimps tolerated her but they wouldn't let her get away with poaching other girls' tricks. The window eased down and a pair of the most soulful blue eyes she had ever seen drew her in. The kid looked to be just out of his teens if he was lucky. He didn't have the brash quality of a frat boy out to humiliate a hooker, or the demeanour of a shy kid out to score with a woman who wouldn't judge. She was intrigued…why would a good looking rich boy be out here at this time of the night looking to get laid?

The soft way he asked 'how much' sent shivers down her spine. As she replied she gazed into his eyes and knew…she had seen the same look each time she looked in the mirror. He had the look of someone who had given up on life, or more accurately life had given up on him. They discussed terms; he showed no embarrassment in what he was asking for, this was purely business to him. She was impressed that he didn't waver even though she knew that he was aware that she was ripping him off. He nodded as if he'd expected it.

She opened the car door and slid into the seat. He waited for her to buckle up. The same soft voice asked for directions where they should go.

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_Ryan_

Ryan pulled the car up in the alley. He quietly asked her name, not that he wanted to know, it just made things less awkward. He was struck by the name, it was unusual. He detected a European accent, that was even better, fewer reminders. Elise was businesslike. No small talk. He knew that he was just another in a long line for her and that suited him fine. He didn't want anything else. He didn't even bother to check around him to see if he was about to get rolled. He didn't care. He handed over the money and watched as she discreetly placed it down the side of her boot.

He got out the car and went round to open the door for Elise. He pulled her into the shadows. He trod on the used condoms that were strewn over the uneven floor. They told him this alley was a regular haunt for girls like her. He backed himself against the wall and waited for her touch. His body cried out for human contact, he needed this. Her hand grasped the front of his pants and squeezed. He shifted his legs and stared at a point behind her head, a green spray painted tag from some street gang high on the wall drew his focus. He let his mind go blank as she undid his pants and pulled his erection free. She gave a few firm tugs before she squatted down. He felt her hot mouth push the condom down his shaft and he shut his eyes as she engulfed him. He started to thrust his hips and she let him fuck her mouth. That was one of the advantages of paying; you didn't have to worry about hurting what a young girl's expectations of what a blowjob should be. Some girls thought that just by taking you in their mouths that that was enough, that you owed them your undying gratitude for a quick suck. No, a blowjob was more than that and Elise was a master. He wound his hands in her hair and thrust deeper and deeper, safe in the knowledge that Elise could take what he was giving. Her hand reached for his balls, rolling and stretching the sensitive skin. He felt his legs tremble as she used her skills to bring him to a quick climax. He didn't feel cheated; in a job where time meant money he expected no less.

He removed the condom and tossed it on the floor to join the others. He zipped himself up and got out a cigarette, he offered one to Elise and silently lit it for her when she accepted. They stood in silence both listening to the sounds of the fast moving traffic and the wails of the distant sirens…the mantra of a busy weekend in the City. He ground the butt under his boot when he finished and turned back to Elise.

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_Elise_

Elise took him to one of her spots. The local cops left her alone here; she paid a lot of money and gave favours to the local patrols for the use of this alley. He pulled her by the hand deeper into the shadows. The hand contact threw her but she realized that this kid was not like her usual clients, he had already surprised her with the simple act of opening the car door for her, he'd made her feel good. He had made her briefly feel like a person rather than a commodity. She watched as he positioned himself against the wall. She stretched one hand out and found that he was already hard and gave a silent sigh of relief. It made her job easier if they were ready. She hated the Johns who had a problem and expected her to work miracles. She pulled down his zipper and freed him. She was curious about this boy. As she tugged on him he stared off into the distance. It was an almost vacant expression on his face. She was used to reading people. She had seen the look of disgust on some men's faces, disgust that they'd lowered themselves to a cheap poke in a back alley. She'd seen guilt many times. She'd seen the look of hate angled at her but she'd never seen this level of detachment and desolation. It was like his head had divorced itself from the proceedings and it was his body running the show now. She squatted down having learnt long ago not to kneel in this shit hole, and removed a condom from her purse. She put it in her mouth and angled her head so she could take him in her mouth and slide the latex down his length.

She lifted her eyes as he began to buck his hips. She saw that he'd closed his eyes now. She felt better about that, and it was certainly more normal. She let him go deep but she made sure she kept her hand firmly at the base of his cock in case he got carried away. Some men thought that just because she was a working girl that gave them Carte Blanche to try and choke her, but something told her that this kid wasn't out to humiliate or hurt her; he had his own agenda for being here and it strangely didn't involve her, even though she had his prick halfway down her throat. Her jaw began to ache so she used her free hand to grasp and knead his bollocks, a trick she found that usually sped things up. She rolled the soft skin in her hand and felt him tense then spasm in release.

He removed the condom, then zipped himself away. She liked that he did that; it again showed a certain amount of respect to her. Some men would have just let it all hang out as a sign that they hadn't finished with her. She accepted the cigarette that he offered and again was touched by him lighting it for her. Part of her was desperate to ask what the hell he was doing here. What she did know was this kid did not belong here for all the confident ways he'd shown in picking her up. Her years on the job meant she could usually suss out the reasons why men came to her but this kid was an enigma. He was good looking, he had money, he was clean and he had a soothing demeanour. He was every Prom Queen's dream. So why was he here in an alley on a Sunday night with a prostitute?

He stubbed his smoke out underfoot and turned back to her. From the light that filtered down from the fire escape above she could see that he was ready again, the denim pulled taught over his hardness. She had been sceptical when he had quietly told her his needs. She had been concerned that it was the brashness of youth that made him think that he'd be ready again so soon, 'cause she sure as hell didn't want to hang around all night in a dank alley that smelled of piss.

She flicked her cigarette away, pulled him to her and stroked him through his pants. That was something she didn't normally do but a hooker could make exceptions. He buried his face in her neck; he seemed to instinctively know not to kiss her, which was a big no-no with clients. It was funny that you let them stick their pricks in just about every orifice but kissing was too intimate? He fumbled with his pants in his haste to fuck her. She got another condom from her small purse and handed it to him. The logistics of a stand up screw was off. He wasn't tall but at 5' 3" she was hardly an Amazon. She was just about to suggest they convene to the back of the car when his strong arms lifted her off the floor and held her firmly in place. She wrapped her legs around his back as he pushed into her. She gasped as he started to pound into her like his life depended on it. She let herself get carried away and for once she didn't have to fake. She thought back to the times when sex hadn't been a means to earn money, she thought back to the times when sex had felt like this. She felt free again if only for a while. She spoilt it by looking into his eyes again and saw the same detachment, a detachment that told her this was purely business for him. Whatever demons he was running from were etched straight onto his retinas. She shut her eyes to block out the pain she saw and fooled herself that this was real.

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_Ryan_

He thrust again and again into her. He felt the same ache in his stomach that that had been a permanent fixture since that night. He tried to block the thoughts assaulting his head. Sandy reading the police report and telling him that there was to be no charge for the post mortem damage he'd inflicted on Trey's body, the way that Sandy couldn't meet his eyes spoke volumes. Seth couldn't bear to be in the same room as him and Summer just didn't come to the house anymore. Marissa had been sent away to get over what the Atwood boys had done to her fragile mind and the one person who might, just might have told him that things would be O.K had been kept in the dark. Kirsten didn't need his shit added to her problems.

He clung onto Elise, held her close, willing his body to feel something other than the numbness. His arms were tired now, he shifted her higher on his hips. He was aware that he was grunting, almost shouting with each lunge in a sort of battle cry. He'd been given a chance and he'd wasted it…fucked up again and again until he'd used up his chances. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. He knew where he was heading and it had come full circle…Sandy shouldn't have bothered that day all those months ago. It was fate…he was an Atwood.

He found an untapped source of energy and renewed his pace.  
Elise was sobbing now, her hands tangled in his hair. He backed off thinking he'd gone too far. He didn't want to hurt her but she cried out for him to go faster, deeper. For the first time he looked into her eyes and actually saw her…looked at the woman behind the job. They locked eyes and shared a moment of understanding. They were two people who were at one for this brief time. They both recognised it…they were destined to be the flotsam and jetsam of life, human waste not unlike the used condoms that littered the floor. Life had used them and thrown them both away, and for a second he didn't feel alone. His body purged itself into her and he shuddered and clung on.

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_Elise_

She felt awkward. Something had passed between them and it had made her feel exposed. She watched as he re-arranged himself. He was quiet again now. She'd been surprised at his loud exclamations when he'd been screwing her, it seemed out of character but then what did she know about him?

He asked her if she wanted a lift back. She told him that she was finished for the night, that she lived near here. She frowned to herself; she never gave information to clients. You never knew which one was the psycho but here she was telling him things. He didn't appear to be listening anyway. She watched as he walked back to the SUV parked at the entrance to the alley. He got a hold all out from the back seat and rummaged in it. He pulled out a tee shirt and got back in the car. She got closer to see what he was doing. He was in the process of wiping down all the surfaces inside, anywhere where they might have touched. He slammed the door and wiped the outside of the doors, locked the car then dropped the keys down the drain. He slung the bag over his shoulder and in his measured tone said two words that made her want to cry, 'Thank you'…and he seemed to mean it. He turned away and started to walk up the street. She caught up to him. He looked startled when she stopped him. She had to ask…something inside her was willing her and she didn't know why. She still had her hand on his arm when she asked if he needed any help. Despite first appearances the kid was obviously homeless but had wasted a good chunk of money on her tonight for whatever reason. He looked down at her hand and gently shook it off.

She watched as he continued down the block, his shoulders slumped. He turned around after a few paces and gave her a sad smile.

"No one can help me."

**Fin**


	2. Chapter 2

**Beta'ed by Melanie39**

**Disclaimer- I own nothing to do with The OC.**

O.K so I thought this was just a one shot...I was wrong.

Read and Review.

**Lost Chances**

Part 2

Ryan slumped by the wall again and looked down at his hand. Fifty cents …how fucking generous. He sighed and put the money in his pocket. All pride was gone now. What the hell was the point, people didn't give a shit about who he was or what potential he'd blown. He wasn't the kid from Chino anymore, he wasn't the bad seed transplanted into the scented rose garden that was Newport, he was just one of the many faceless here in LA. The old Ryan wouldn't have dreamt of panhandling but that person was long gone.

Hassling people for money wasn't so bad. Guilt made a lot of people put their hands in their pockets. Looking at him made them think of their kids, warm, fed, and safe at home, a few dollars salved their consciences and made them feel good about themselves. It bought them the right to ignore his existence.

He never made much begging, he hadn't quite managed the pathetic look that brought in the real money. The fuck you attitude still lingered but it was harder to maintain as the days went by. Living rough was hard but it had its advantages. People left him alone and he liked living in the shadows. It was a relief to just fade into the background.

What he couldn't afford he stole. If he bought groceries it was a case of slipping a few extras under his coat. He tried to stick to the big faceless supermarkets as opposed to the smaller retailer…. the corporate fuckers could afford it, they'd been shafting people for years, but mostly he spent his money on cigarettes and alcohol thus perpetuating the endless media reports that any money given to a freeloader like him would be pissed up against the wall. What the fuck did they think you could do with the meagre pickings you gleaned…buy stocks?

There was a reason that the homeless chose to drink and get high, and it wasn't because this was a lifestyle choice. He'd lost count of how many times people had spat at him to get a job. What the fuck did they know? You couldn't get a job without an address, you couldn't afford an address without a job, and so the fucking endless cycle rolled on.

His sleeping place was a disused video store. He'd found a back window with a broken catch and moved in. It was a dump that he now shared with several junkies. They left him alone once they realized he wasn't going to steal their gear when they were under and he'd become their silent watcher. It was freezing at night and stifling during the day. The place had a broken toilet and the water had long since been shut off. In the six weeks he'd been here the stench had gradually become unbearable. Long term heroin use made you constipated and the need for laxatives a necessity. Sometimes the urge to go was immediate and his cohabiters had no self-esteem left and didn't care how much mess they made. But a place was a place and he was loathe to move on and have to prove himself again. And in a strange way, in his mind, they had become his new fucked up family.

Occasionally he'd let his mind wander when he bedded down for the night, wondering if anyone had even noticed he'd gone? That's when the cheap generic whisky would come out and exorcise the lonely ache he felt in every fibre of his body. He'd sink into oblivion only to wake the next day and find that nothing had changed.

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_Elise_

The night was slow. Cold weather always made business hard. She hated these evenings where she had time to think about what a fuck up she'd made all those years ago. The traffic noise grated on her nerves and her new shoes rubbed her feet. She'd had enough for this evening. One of the advantages of being her own boss was that she could quit for the night when she wanted to. She made her way to the small Italian restaurant near her apartment. Genaro, the owner, had become a trusted friend over the years. He was one of the few people who wanted nothing from her, and he always treated her like a lady and never judged her. She found herself drawn to him when she felt low; his easygoing manner was like a soothing balm to her on days like today where she felt the world closing in on her.

She sat at her table near the kitchen watching Genaro as he made her his angel hair pasta and talked about his children proudly. Times like this made her regret not having children, of not having anyone to pass the memories of her mother to. When she died then a whole era would end, no one would hear the stories of her mother's escapades in the swinging sixties with the Carnaby Street set, or the secret of her grandmother's award winning gingerbread men...it would all end with her and it was a depressing thought. Would anyone even notice if she wasn't around anymore?

As Genaro moved to the back cold store, Elise picked up the local newspaper and flicked idly through whilst sipping her Valpolicella. Her eyes were drawn to the personal columns; more correctly to the large advert on one of the pages. The face that stared back at her was unmistakable; the half page colour ad had done justice to the eyes, the eyes that she had stared into all those weeks ago. She read the print, Ryan Atwood - missing from Newport, anyone with information as to his whereabouts please ring the Newport Group or contact Sanford Cohen- attorney at law. So, she had a name now.

She had seen him many times in the last few weeks. The preppy, rich kid she had serviced that night had vanished, he was clearly homeless now. The same haunted look was in place but with it was the sallow complexion of a bad diet and the sunken eyes of an insomniac. She had tried to talk to him but he had always slipped out of her reach. He was like a ghost, one minute he was there, the next he would vanish into the crowds. She called through to Genaro asking if he had any old papers. He looked at her puzzled, shrugged, then disappeared, returning with a pile of old newspapers before retreating once more to the kitchen.

She thumbed her way through the copies. In each the same ad appeared. Three different papers ran the plea going back weeks. The ad was not cheap, someone wanted him found but the question was did he want to be? Should she ring the number? She was not naïve enough to think that everything would be solved for him if she called. This kid had run away from something and that something had been big by the way he'd looked that night. She ripped the page out and folded it into her purse. She sipped her wine and thought about the boy with the sad eyes.

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_Ryan_

The last two nights had been spent in the open behind a cinema on North Street. His home was no more. It was secured as tight as a drum now with grills over the back windows and a 'To Let' sign over the door; he supposed he'd been lucky to have a place for that long. He had contemplated stealing a car to sleep in but he didn't have the energy left. The SUV he'd taken the night he'd left Newport had been like taking candy from a baby. It was parked at the pier; the owners had left it unlocked while they collected an order from one of the restaurants that lined the Boulevard. The keys had been in the car and it had been so easy. Rich people didn't seem to care about their property. This area of LA was not so lax.

The days dragged but the nights were worse. He'd begun to fantasize about a real bed where he could cocoon himself under a warm comforter and bury his head in a soft pillow and just sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had really slept. His nights were made up of catnaps and drunken comas that didn't leave you feeling refreshed. He'd walk the streets until the early hours putting off the need for rest; a dank alley was not an inviting bed. He pushed the thoughts of the pool house out of his mind…. that had never been his, he had always been a transient who had outstayed his welcome in the Cohens' house and the last week he'd spent there had showed that to him. He had roamed the rooms and realized that apart from the pool house he didn't feel comfortable anywhere…it still felt like a hotel to him. He had never opened any of the drawers in the den, he had never just turned on the TV and sat with his feet up and felt like he had truly belonged there.

The Cohens had spent the last two years trying to get him to open up, telling him that he was part of their family. He had thought that they really meant it but when he'd really needed them they had shut him out. Sandy had always been too busy and Seth had been spending more and more time away from the house, clearly unsettled around him. He was like a puppy who had peed on the carpet one too many times. The novelty had worn off and they were thinking of sending him back to the pound. So he'd made the decision for them.

Leaving had been easy. Forgetting was not.

He sat on the step and blocked them from his mind. Looking back was not an option but what the fuck did he have to look forward to? He knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the somnolence that hard drugs would bring; he'd watched the smack heads fall into their sweet state of Nirvana and wished that he could feel that release. The only thing that held him back was knowing that once he was on that merry-go-round he wouldn't be able to get off, and he wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet.

He looked up at the shadow that had fallen over him; the wide-eyed stare that he met didn't worry him. The plea for money would just have to go unanswered, as he had none to give. When the man made a grab for his backpack. Ryan stood up. What the fuck was this idiot on? Did he look like Rockefeller? He was not about to relinquish his worldly goods to feed someone else's habit, so he held on.

For the first time in weeks he felt alive. If this punk wanted a fight then he'd give him one. He swung his arm but it never connected. He felt the blow to his solar plexus and looked down. The fist was still resting against his abdomen; he was ruminating on the fact that this was a strange way to punch when he felt a burning pain as the man twisted his hand then pulled upwards towards his breastbone. He stumbled forward and loosely hugged the man; his hand dropped his pack to the floor. His brain was frantically trying to catch up with the pain he now felt. He fell to his knees as the stranger removed his hand and bent down and picked up his pack. Ryan saw the blade in front of his face and looked down at his stomach. He stared up incredulously…but the wild-eyed man was already running. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the stars.

He could hear voices around him but they were strangely distant. He lay there and wondered if this is how Trey had felt that night.

It wasn't remotely frightening. If anything it was surreal. He could feel the blood flowing down his sides and it tickled…it fucking tickled.

He coughed and tasted the metallic tang of copper on his tongue. The night sky looked so peaceful from down here and he wondered why he'd never really stopped and looked at it before. It was strange that the patch he glimpsed through the tall buildings had been there since before time began and would be there long after he had gone.

He let out a choked laugh as he pictured the man going though the spoils his bag contained, some dirty clothes, a half empty bottle of whisky he'd stolen, a few cigarettes………… and a stupid fucking plastic horse.

He wondered if the sky was this clear over Newport tonight.

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_Elise_

Elise neared Genaro's. She sorely needed an espresso and a helping of his fine tiramisu tonight. She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced over at the other side of the road. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. She walked on for a few steps but then crossed the road intrigued. She asked a young man what was going on. She turned away as he muttered that a young kid had just been rolled by a junkie, it wasn't her problem. She heard someone yell for the cops and turned back. There was a time when she hadn't been so disinterested in the world, when she had been compassionate and cared. There wasn't anything she could do but she wasn't going to walk away this time. She nudged her way through the throng.

She felt a chill run through her body.

_No_…please no.

The crimson pooled darkly under the streetlamp and the once piercing blue eyes were dull now and stared sightlessly upwards.

She felt her throat tighten and turned away.

She walked for miles that night, absently wiping the tears that ran down her face. Why was life so fucking harsh, so fucking cruel? She stopped and pulled the newspaper page from her bag, she looked at the smiling face one more time before she angrily tore it into tiny shreds and watched as they fluttered and swirled down the street caught in the breeze.

Life was full of lost chances.

**Fin  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Lost Chances - An epilogue.  
**Rating:**This chapter PG13...the first two very much NC17.  
**Beta:** **melanie39** any mistakes are mine though as I 'fiddled'. :)  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own The OC, Ryan or Benjamin McKenzie.  
**Story: **Dark and depressing AU set after season 2's finale. Ryan runs to LA after Trey's death.  
**Notes: **For **m3kane**...waves to the lurker and several other people who asked at the time for an epilogue to this story. :)

**Lost Chances **

Epilogue

_Sandy _

He hadn't told Seth and Kirsten where he was going. They didn't need to know, not this time. This was his third body in as many months and he didn't think he could put them through the pain again. Those few hours of utter fear that it might be Ryan were worse than anything he'd ever encountered before so God only knew how his wife and son felt.

The first time he'd gone to I.D a body had impacted on all the family. That teen had died of hypothermia. It seemed inconceivable with the mild weather they'd been having but then when you were cocooned in Egyptian cotton on a soft sprung mattress it was hard to think how cold it actually got out in the night air. It brought home how much danger Ryan must be in, living rough, _if_ he was living on the streets. They didn't know that for sure. Ryan had simply vanished. It was the not knowing that was killing them all.

That first time they'd convinced themselves that it wasn't Ryan …no way… but until the sheet had been pulled back Sandy hadn't been able to take a single easy breath. The rush of oxygen that eventually flooded his body made his head spin. He'd first felt elation that he wasn't looking at the face that they'd come to care so much about, but then followed the deep depression that they were still no nearer to finding Ryan.

The second body had been somehow more shocking as the kid lying on the gurney had looked so young. That kid had died of an overdose under a freeway bridge.

Every time a young blond, John Doe showed up Sandy's private investigator made sure that Sandy knew about it. He hated that Perry felt he needed to know, it was like the guy already had it pegged that Ryan was not going to make it on the streets. Pushed to the back of Sandy's mind was a thought, a thought that he didn't want to come to the surface.

The old Ryan would have survived against all odds.

But that Ryan was no more and the thought that it was them…the family that was to be his last great white hope…that had squashed any last vestiges of fight that the boy had through their own unwillingness to read what was going on in his mind. And that thought left Sandy traumatised.

He felt guilt more than anything, guilty that he'd been so locked up in his own thoughts and troubles that he had neglected the one person who it would cut the deepest.

Ryan.

A boy who'd only ever given of himself and expected nothing in return.

A boy who'd tried so hard to fit into their home.

A boy who should have expected more from them.

They had failed him.

Sandy felt the heavy hand of culpability resting squarely on his shoulders every day since he'd gone. When Ryan had desperately needed help and understanding he'd only focused on his wife's alcohol problem and hadn't given Ryan's situation any great thought. He assumed Ryan would just power through like he always did.

The worse thing was that he knew that he'd let his disappointment…no, that was the wrong word, he'd let his disgust show and that had effected Ryan, a boy who'd needed approval and reasurrance from him at that bad time. The coroner's report had blind-sided him and he'd found it difficult to separate the quiet, studious and often funny boy from the monster - as he'd perceived at the time - who'd kicked his brother's body so hard that it was the worst case of post-mortem violence the medical examiner had ever seen.

It was only after Ryan had left that Sandy had seriously re-evaluated his reaction. Ryan was acting out of years of frustration and hurt and in the cold light of day who was Sandy to say that he wouldn't have lost it like Ryan had done if he'd found out that someone had sexually assaulted Kirsten? Sandy knew that he'd do anything to keep her safe…. and Seth. It was a shame that he had temporarily forgotten that Ryan needed protecting just as much.

Sandy had been blind to just how much his and Seth's avoidance after Trey's death had affected Ryan until it was too late.

He'd give anything to be able to turn the clock back. There would be so many things he'd do differently. The first would be not to turn his back on someone so fragile because that's what Ryan was…fragile. It had taken Ryan leaving to realize that his apparent innate strength was just an illusion. Ryan had been as fragile as a spun sugar cage and they had all worked to smash the delicate threads until all that was left was powder.

Sandy had been the first to kick him when he was down, then Kirsten with what she'd said to him at the intervention. Sandy had seen Ryan's face fall at her hurtful words but he hadn't done anything. Then finally Seth had added his own kick, Ryan's proxy brother and best friend had also turned his back on him.

Seth had admitted that Ryan had scared the shit out of him that night. That incarnation of Ryan had scared them all but they had stupidly lost sight of the fact that it was still Ryan. The same boy who made pancakes and grilled cheese for them all, who would do anything for anyone, who had never raised a fist to anyone who hadn't threatened first.

Sandy pulled his car over into a space and turned the engine off. He needed time. He leant his head back and shut his eyes. It was strange. Part of him wanted this over as soon as possible but part of him wanted to run…to run and not have to enter the cold, sterile building in front of him, even though he'd convinced himself that this once again was going to be a wild goose chase, a precaution and nothing else.

They didn't even know for sure Ryan was even in the city.

What did depress Sandy was the lack of interest from the police. It seemed that if a John or Jane Doe looked older than a high school kid then they didn't waste much time on finding out who they were. And even though this case would be a murder investigation, it was a fight or mugging between two vagrants and that somehow didn't matter as much. The different precincts had their own problems in this city; drugs, prostitution and gang crimes were the priorities. The death of a vagrant did not rank high on their lists.

All he knew about this kid was that he had long blond hair, weighed about 140lbs and had been a victim of an assault with a deadly weapon. The PI had said he was in the right age bracket that they were looking at but the weight was all out for Ryan and the description could have corresponded with about ten percent of the population of the USA. Sandy was only doing this to rule out any possibilities, he'd promised Seth that no stone would go unturned and if that meant having to do …this, then that's what he'd do.

He got out of the car and walked to the office. It was more of a cubby really. No effort had been made to make the place look inviting. The last morgue had been the same. Sandy supposed that no effort was required for the dead. He rang the bell and a tall skinny man came into view. Sandy filled out the necessary forms giving the police missing person's case number and all relevant information. It was sad that even something like this was so fraught with procedures. Apparently there were some people who got a thrill from looking at death so now people had to get a dispensation from the police to view. What the hell was the world coming to?

He was shown to a corridor and told to wait. Sandy leaned against the wall and laced his fingers together. This part was torture…the wait. He shut his mind off and stared at the crack in the linoleum. His cell phone ringing shook him out of his torpor.

It was Perry with a lead, a good lead this time. Finally after so many dead ends. Apparently according to a source a boy matching Ryan's description had spent several nights in a hostel near Corona. He'd been quiet and had mentioned to someone that his father was in prison. Sandy felt excited. Corona was a place Ryan knew. It would seem more likely that he would go back to a place that was familiar to him. Sandy could never see Ryan in a place like L.A. He flipped his phone shut just as the morgue attendant waved him into a room. It felt redundant now. Sandy had such a good feeling about this new lead. He wanted to be on his way…on the road to Corona. He'd find Ryan and he'd be able to put his family back together. That's what they needed. Without realizing it Ryan had become the glue that stuck them together and now that Kirsten was home again they needed Ryan to complete the picture. This time they would make sure Ryan knew how important he was to them all.

The room smelt of formaldehyde and a stronger lingering odour that Sandy chose not to dwell on. He nodded that he was ready and the starched white sheet was lifted away from the body shaped lump that lay on the trolley.

Sandy stared.

This wasn't right.

Sandy swallowed and stepped forward.

His world crumbled in that split second.

It didn't look like Ryan... but it was unmistakably him.

His hair was lank and greasy, no longer the sun bleached blond that he remembered but a dull darker shade now.

His skin was ingrained with dirt. No effort had been made to clean him up.

But it was the thinness of Ryan's profile that shocked Sandy the most. Ryan had weighed a good 170 pounds of solid muscle before he'd left. Now he was little more than skin and bone. He was a mere transparency of his former self.

Sandy felt numb.

He couldn't even begin to think what Ryan had been through.

He felt sick.

Tears welled in his eyes without him noticing and he started to shake.

He could see the ugly raised 'y' incision on his torso. It dissected down through the violent knife wound on his stomach. It stood out harsh, angry and red in an otherwise colourless surface.

It was most likely clear on his face, Sandy thought, that this was no stranger. The attendant looked expectantly at him, probably wanting to fill out paperwork now that they had a name.

But Sandy didn't want to look away. It seemed like a final insult to Ryan somehow. One more rejection.

How was he going to tell Kirsten and Seth that he'd found Ryan?

How would he even begin to tell his son that his best friend was never coming home again?

Sandy reached out his hand and laid it on Ryan's cold arm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

But it was too late.

They had driven him away and now he was gone forever.

Their lives would never be the same again.

It was over.

**Fin.**


End file.
